The world was too big, too noisy, and above all, too dangerous for a little rat missing a finger. Peter Pettigrew was curled up at the bottom of Ron Weasley's robe pocket, shaking uncontrollably. It wasn't just the cold of the castle, nor the smell of wet dog that sometimes reached him in light gusts when the wind blew from the forest. No, it was something much worse. It was the constant feeling of being hunted.
Sirius was close. He had torn the portrait of the Fat Lady. He had been mere feet away from him. Peter could feel his madness, his hunger for revenge vibrating through the walls, and Remus... Remus was teaching classes, walking the same hallways, with that wolf's nose that could smell anything from miles away.
But there was something else that made his blood run cold, something that made him bury his snout between his paws and wish he could disappear from that place. Ron moved abruptly, pulling him out of his thoughts and forcing Peter to peek his head out of the pocket as the boy walked toward the Great Hall for breakfast.
Then he saw him.
Aurelian Gaunt was standing near the oak doors, talking to those two terrifying twins who always accompanied him.
Peter froze. His little rodent heart lurched painfully against his ribs. Every time he saw the boy, he felt like peeing himself. It wasn't just because he was a powerful wizard; he had seen many powerful wizards. It was because of who he resembled.
The light from the torches illuminated Aurelian's profile, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the aristocratic elegance of his posture, and that air of always being in complete control of everything around him, like an invisible cloak.
It was him.
He was the spitting image of the Mister Tenebrous.
Peter let out a muffled squeak that Ron mistook for hunger, patting his pocket gently. But Peter... this time he wasn't hungry. He was just terrified.
Unlike the monster stories told to children, the Master Peter had served was not a deformed beast. He was a man. A terrifyingly handsome man who made people want to follow him or flee from him, regal and with a presence that forced kings and ministers to bow their heads. Year after year, Aurelian Gaunt became more like Voldemort. It was like seeing his Master in miniature, younger but with that same blood-curdling presence.
He had the same dark hair, the same pale skin, and above all, that look. Those black eyes, deep as the abyss, that seemed to see every dirty secret you kept in your soul. His face was his best weapon, because they used it to charm you before destroying you.
Rats have instincts. They can sense when a storm is coming, when a predator is nearby, and Aurelian Gaunt reeks of power.
Peter remembered the train. He remembered the cold of the Dementors, that feeling that all the happiness in the world was being extinguished. Then... a burst of light. That silver basilisk that had charged into the shadows with a ferocity no fifteen-year-old student should possess. That wasn't the magic of a child. It was the magic of someone destined to rule... to crush them all.
Aurelian turned his head slightly, and for a second Peter felt those eyes staring directly into Ron's pocket. The terror was so great that Peter burrowed deep into the fabric, shaking violently as he bit the fluff inside to keep from screaming.
"He looks so much like Him," thought the rat desperately. "It's as if the Mister Tenebrous himself were looking at me. The same posture, the same calm before acting."
Peter didn't know who this boy really was, but his survival instinct screamed one thing: Get away. Aurelian Gaunt was a predator at the top of the food chain, and Peter was just an appetizer. He had to flee. He had to escape from Hogwarts. But with Granger's monstrous cat watching and Sirius lurking outside, there was no way out. He was trapped.
Panic is like acid. It corrodes memory, distorts time, and brings back ghosts you thought you had buried under twelve years of life as a pet. As Peter trembled in the darkness of Ron's pocket, the image of Aurelian Gaunt remained etched in his mind, dragging with it a memory he had tried to forget.
He remembered the day he switched sides. It wasn't under threat or torture. It was in an elegant hall, lit by crystal chandeliers, where soft music floated in the air. He had gone there seeking protection, seeking to be more than just the shadow of James and Sirius.
There he was.
The Dark Lord was not the walking nightmare that Dumbledore's propaganda portrayed. No. He was simply magnificent. He sat on a velvet throne at the top of the hall, a glass of wine in his hand. When he looked at Peter, it was not with contempt but with clear curiosity.
"Come closer, Pettigrew..." he had said. His voice was soft as silk, a melody to the ears, vibrating with contained power. "Stop trembling."
Peter remembered stepping forward, feeling small and insignificant.
"Tell me, my little friend..." Voldemort continued, rising smoothly. "Doesn't it tire you? The eternal taste of crumbs? Being the accessory, the footnote in the glorious history of Potter and Black?"
Voldemort had stopped in front of him, and Peter felt that gaze peel his soul like a piece of fruit.
"They call you friend, but they always look down on you. They love you like a pet, a clumsy one at that. But I..." Voldemort extended a pale hand, fingers long and perfect, as if offering him the world. "I see what you hide. I see the ambition that twists beneath your fear. I see a courage they ignore."
"I... I just want to be useful, My Lord," Peter had stammered.
"Useful..." Voldemort savored the word, smiling cruelly at him. "Peter. I offer you something more. I offer you a purpose. I offer you a place in the new world, a world where those who hide in the shadows will come out to rule over those who shine in false light. Join me, and you will never have to walk behind anyone again."
It was a seduction of the soul. A promise of greatness for someone who was only mediocre. Peter remembered falling to his knees, not out of cowardice, nor because of some spell. He simply fell under the weight.
The atmosphere around Voldemort was dense, almost unbreathable. It was the absolute pressure that only an Archmage could exert. Peter had felt something like this before, he had been close to Dumbledore, he had seen James and Sirius at their best. But this was different. The power of an Archmage doesn't just scare you, it crushes you and eliminates everything else from your mind. It bends reality around you and makes you feel that your existence depends on a single whim of his, that he could erase you from history with a simple thought, all without even raising his wand.
It was that terror that had kept him loyal. Fear of a force beyond human comprehension, a force that played with the laws of magic as if they were toys.
Betrayal wasn't so difficult at first. A whisper here, a location there. He felt powerful... For the first time, he was in control. He pulled the strings. He knew the secrets, everything was going well... until that damn Halloween night.
Peter closed his eyes tightly, pressing his paws against his ears as if he could block out Lily's screams. He didn't want them to die, he told himself, as he had done thousands of times before. He just wanted to survive. If He won, I would be safe. If He lost... well, I was always a rat... I would find a way to survive.
A sudden movement from Ron brought him back to reality; he was still in the Great Hall. Peter peeked out cautiously once more, scanning his surroundings.
Aurelian was still there, eating with a calmness that made his blood run cold. Peter's eyes quickly shifted to the figures flanking him.
The Carrow twins.
Hestia and Flora. They were leaning toward Aurelian, whispering something in his ear. Hestia wiped a crumb from the corner of his mouth with a kiss, while Flora watched the rest of the hall with a predatory gaze, challenging anyone who dared to approach.
A chill ran down Peter's spine, colder than any winter.
He knew that look very well.
He had seen it in Bellatrix Lestrange's eyes.
He remembered the Death Eaters' meetings. Bellatrix always sat to the right of the Dark Lord. She didn't look at him as a leader, she looked at him as a god... a sacred idol. It was a strange mixture of sick adoration, possessiveness, and a latent madness that could always be seen in her eyes. She would kill for Him, she would die for Him, and she would enjoy every second of both.
The Carrow girls had that same sparkle in their eyes.
They were younger and seemed to be a little more controlled than Bellatrix, but the seed was there. That intensity. That obsession, the way their worlds seemed to shrink to a single person. If Gaunt asked them to burn down the castle with everyone inside, Peter had no doubt that those two girls would immediately cast a Fiendfyre while looking at him with a smile on their lips.
"It's watching history repeat itself," Peter thought, and a cold sweat soaked his fur.
If Aurelian was who Peter feared him to be... and if those girls were the new Bellatrix... then Peter was in the most dangerous place in the world. Because if there was one thing the Mister Tenebrous hated more than his enemies, it was the traitors and cowards who had failed him.
Peter had failed him. He hadn't looked for him when he fell. He hid and became a pet. When he saw Aurelian again, Aurelian looked up from his plate and smiled at something Flora said. It was a small smile, but Peter thought he saw fangs.
Terror churned in his stomach. He had to get out of there as soon as possible. Sirius wanted to kill him for betraying James. Lupin would kill him if he knew the truth. But Gaunt... Gaunt and his witches could do such terrible things to him that death would seem like a gift.
Peter sank into the darkness of the pocket, trembling, praying to whatever deity listened to rats that no one, absolutely no one, would notice the lump moving in a Weasley's robe.
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